The Half-Blood Patriarch
by SinghSong
Summary: After the Dark Lord's resurrection in the graveyard after the Triwizard Tournament, Karkaroff seeks refuge in Snape's study, and abandoning all hope of escape, entrusts Snape with his most valued possessions in exchange for granting him a swift and painless death. However, when those 'possessions' turn out to be two girls, how will Severus handle becoming a Patriarch?
1. Karkaroff Offed

**Prologue: Karkaroff Offed**

Weary, exhausted beyond words after having endured the relentless torture session and the merciless assaults on his mind he'd had to endure after finally managing to attend the Dark Lord's summons, Severus Snape shuffled back through the corridors of Hogwarts, like a member of the walking dead. Every inch of his body ached and groaned in protest, after he'd been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus curses for nigh-on half an hour straight, even in spite of the potions he'd swigged to lessen their impact before going to join the rest of the Death Eaters. He'd just about managed to hold him off, to selectively show just enough to satisfy the man's- no, snake-man's now, thanks to that unheard-of dark life alchemy ritual he'd used to acquire his new body, utilizing his snake-familiar's venom as the primary ingredient in the potion which formed its base- expectations and allay the Dark Lord's rightfully aroused suspicions that he'd gone over to the side of his most hated enemy, Dumbledore. But only barely, by a hair's breadth. After all of these years, he'd allowed his Occlumency to go to waste, to become soft. Weak- penetrable. He'd only escaped exposure thanks to the Dark Lord's lack of composure, thanks to the fact that the Potter brat had escaped his clutches in the graveyard and made it back to the protection of Hogwarts.

It was almost laughable- for the first time ever, Severus found himself actually praising the fates for Harry Potter's absurd over-abundance of luck, now that enough of it had spilled over his way to save his own sorry skin. But this was NOT a life debt- oh no, he most certainly did NOT owe a life debt to that insufferable, arrogant, idiotic little brat, no matter how close it may have been. And he definitely was NOT going to let himself come any closer to owing Harry Potter a life debt than he'd come tonight. Never again. Turning the corner, Severus started to open the door to his private study from afar using his wand, already dead-set on going straight through to his chambers and just collapse in a head on the bed. But upon starting to open the door, the realization that the wards on his office had been already accessed by someone else before him hit Severus like a Giant's club, putting him back on full alert in an instant. Too late to cancel the opening spell, but with his wand already in hand, he had both a wordless silencing charm and the strongest shield he could muster up around the doorway within a fraction of a second, using a summoning spell to yank himself all the way down the corridor and in front of the door before it creaked open, just in time.

"Severus! I have to talk to you..." A figure rose from _his_ chair, behind _his_ desk, here in _his_ dark sanctuary of peace and solitude- instantly recognizable even through the filthy haze of tobacco smoke which now permeated the place, still billowing forth from the man's accursed pipe. Igor Karkaroff, the allegedly absconded Headmaster of Durmstrang, the former Death Eaters whose absence had been noted most keenly of all, had been _here_? Charging in, slamming the door behind him, Severus marched across to Karkaroff and clapped his hand over the man's mouth, leaning in to hiss in his ear. "Keep your voice down, and stay in there, you blithering imbecile. There are eyes and ears everywhere..."

A thorough scan of the office, though, revealed no traces of any unwanted listeners or observers other then his unwelcome guest. Satisifed, Severus released his grip, shoving Karkaroff backwards and watching him collapse in a heap on the stone floor, gasping for breath and scrambling to retrieve his pipe from wherever the foul thing had fallen. "Well? Why are you here, in my office? What do you want? And why didn't you answer, when the Dark Lord summoned you to him?"

Rising back to his feet, holding his pipe in his now visibly shaking hand, Karkaroff stared at him. "I- I needed to talk to you, to be sure. Is it true then- has the Dark Lord truly returned, from beyond the grave? Great Koschei- I, I have to flee, to get as far away from here as far as I can..."

"He'll still find you, you know. There is no place on Earth where you can hide, Igor, now that you've marked yourself as a traitor by failing to attend like the rest of us. He'd have given you leniency, you know that? There were plenty of other betrayers, squealers and turncoats who had the sense to answer his summons upon his return today; you know how many were killed? None. NONE. You'd have got off with nothing more than a run-of-the-mill torture session, just like I did, and that would've been the end of it. But now, now, your cowardice has sealed your fate."

"I know. I know... But please, Severus- you were always a good friend, surely, if you tell him, put in a good word..."

"Ha! You tried to turn me over to the Ministry along with everyone else, back when the Dark Lord fe- stumbled. And thanks to you, and thanks to Dumbledore's announcement in front of the entire Wizengamot that I was his spy for the Order, I'm under greater suspicion now than I've ever been. That was YOUR fault- it's YOUR fault that my 'good word' doesn't count for crap any more. Good friends, we may have been, back in the day. But I'm no-one's stooge, Igor, least of all yours. I do NOT have a death wish; no life-debt is worth more than my own life. And yours would be perhaps the most worthless of all, given the depths of defecation you've dived down into the depths of."

Wavering, clearly shaken to his core by the realization of how badly screwed he actually was, Karkaroff's hand shot out to steady himself against Snape's desk, spilling a few pieces of unfinished paperwork on the floor. "There, there is no hope, no hope then... Please Severus, I need help, I need you to help me. I don't want to..."

"Too bad. You know it as well as I do, Igor, I can see it in your eyes. You're already as good as dead- and if I bring you in, it should be sufficient to allay any suspicions which He may have with regards to my own divided loyalties, all thanks to you and that fat, yellowed mouth of yours- at least for the time being. Now then, come along- you have an overdue appointment with the Dark Lord..." Severus strode forward, having to shift his focus back to maintaining his shield as Karkaroff backed up against the wall and lashed out in desperation, shooting a lethal-looking neon yellow curse at him which stuck onto it, sizzling there for all of five seconds before it eventually fizzled out and dissipated.

"NO! No, you, you CAN'T! You can't turn me over to him?! What he'd do to me- you know, you _know_ what he'd do, to make an example of me... And I won't be able to stay on the run for any length of time either, not with the trace on my Dark Mark allowing him to chase me down wherever I go. The others, the ones I sent to Azkaban; they'll track me down, they'll capture me, and He, He won't just kill me, He'll _destroy me_ , over and over again, crush me and break me until there's nothing left but a soulless, brain-dead husk..."

"Well then, we'd hardly notice the difference, would we?" Severus interjected through his gritted teeth, rapidly losing his patience as Karkaroff cast another of those vexing curses his way.

"Be that as it may, I'd sooner die by my own wand than let you take me to him! I'd sooner die than be caught, and dragged before him! If you think I'm going down without a fight..."

"Merlin, Igor, enough of your harping on," Severus snapped, reaching out to pin Karkaroff against the wall and stretching out his wand hand to place its tip firmly against Karkaroff's forehead. "Quit trying to play the lament- all of the strings on that tired old instrument of yours broke a long time ago, and it's time to give it up and call it a day. Your choice- will I be delivering you to him dead, or alive?"

Bewildered, stunned into silence, Igor stared blankly into Snape's eyes for a moment, not daring to believe it at first, before embracing the small vestige of hope he'd been presented with. "That's- I don't know how to... There's no contest, is there?"

"No, there isn't. But you know full well which option the Dark Lord would reward me for more. And I'd still be running the risk of incurring his wrath, especially given the foul mood he's in after the Potter spawn somehow managed to escaped his clutches- through blind luck, as per usual. If you want what little mercy I have the leeway to offer you, I'll expect you to offer me something to make it up to me. So? Out with it. Tell me, what could you possibly have to offer?"

"My- my estate..."

Severus' eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he answered it with a derisory snort. "Impoverished, languishing in debt since you defaulted on that second mortgage of yours with the Goblins. Your vaults, emptied long ago. And while you may be its Headmaster, you don't have the power to seize any of the Durmstrang Institute's worthwhile assets and pass them on- if you did, you'd have done so long ago."

"Then..." Karkaroff scrambled around, trying desperately to think of something, anything, before coming to a abrupt halt, the Lumos charm clearly blinking on in his mind as an answer presented itself. "Then, I shall leave _them_ in your capable hands. My two most prized possessions. Powerful magic indeed, in both of them. They wouldn't have done me any good anyway, not where I was going- no, if I'd gone on the run, they'd only have impeded me, slowed me down, increased the likelihood of my being caught. But you, you'll certainly be able to get good use out of them. And this way, they won't fall into the clutches of the Dark Lord, or of any of the other Death Eaters who'd seek to take advantage of them, pervert them to serve their whims. You- I can trust you with them, Severus. You're the only one I can- will you accept them, Severus...?"

Dark artifacts? Relics, scrolls, enchanted weapons? Whatever they were, they were clearly the things that Karkaroff valued most of all. Severus didn't even have to pry to see that, it was written all over the man's face. It was the best he was going to get, that much was clear, and time was running short- after today's tumultous events, Dumbledore could very well drop in to demand his report on the Order's re-emerged enemies' numbers and capabilities at any moment, Cruciatus trauma and nerve damage be damned. Let's just get this over with... "Very well, I suppose it'll have to suffice."

"In blood?" Karkaroff inquired quietly, looking down at one of the blank pieces of parchment scattered from the desk, resting on the ground at the feet, between the two of them.

"In blood," Snape affirmed, summoning a pen-knife from his desk and handing it to Karkaroff, who slashed his wrist with it- flinching slightly as he did so, wincing at the pitiful excuse for pain- and handed it back to Snape, who smoothly and unhesitatingly did the same with his own, simultaneously using his wand to enscribe a circle of runes on the piece of parchment beneath them. Then, the two clasped their bleeding wrists together- their blood flowing out from their wounds and merging into a single thread, dripping down to splash onto the parchment below- which turned a brilliant, burning shade of red, bathing them both in the scarlet glow from below, before returning to blank, unblemished white, with both the bloodstains and the runes vanishing from sight without trace.

The two men stood there for a moment, using healing spells to weave up the slashes on their wrists back together without trace, before Snape backed off, allowing Karkaroff to get clear of the wall. Karkaroff dropped his wand to the ground, opening his arms out wide as an open invitation. "Well, Severus- care to seal the deal?" _Goodbye, Igor_. Raising his wand, focusing as much magical energy as he could muster into it from his already drained and fatigued core, he nodded his head, and uttered the Unforgivable to end it all. "Avada Kedavra." The bolt of green light shot from the end of his wand, and struck Igor Karkaroff directly in the chest- moments later, his faintly smiling lifeless corpse collapsed in a heap on the floor. It was done.

Snape absentmindedly banished all of the foul-smelling carcinogenic smoke from his study, and levitated Karkaroff's body into the chest in the corner- ironically enough, the same expanded chest in which Crouch Jr. had imprisoned Alastor Moody for the past year, ready and waiting to be returned to the Dark Lord's possession. Only now, it'd also contain a suitable offering, one which should be sufficient to get him back into the Dark Lord's good graces once more. Curious, he turned his attentions to the blank sheet of parchment upon which they'd sealed their unbreakable contract with that blood magic ritual. With his side of the bargain complete, the conditions had been met- the two most prized possessions which Karkaroff had hoarded to the very end had now been passed on, becoming Snape's rightful magical property.

But as the massive blots of blood red began to manifest themselves visibly, spreading across the sheet of parchment and collecting themselves into lines and dots to spell out exactly what the two possessions that he'd actually acquired were, Snape's satisfied smirk started to ebb away, along with what little color there was in his already pale face. "Wait- what? WHAT?!" As the words became clear, his eyes bulged- leaping out his seat, he summoned the sheet of parchment across his study, reading it over and over again to be absolutely sure, until it was all he could do to stop himself from tearing the sheet apart, or lighting his fireplace and tossing it into the flames. It mattered not- destroying the parchment wouldn't do anything to break the contract written on it. What was done was done- and with no way of bringing Karkaroff back from the dead, there was no way to undo it.

 ** _The Lord and Patriarch of the House of Karkaroff, Igor Pedja Karkaroff, does of his own free will and volition, hereby grant full custodial possession of the two Magical Wards of the Karkaroff Estate to Severus Snape, newly designated Lord and Patriarch of the House of Snape, in perpetuity. This contract was sealed and bound with blood; the terms and conditions were satisfactorily met at 00:13, 25th June 1995, and will remain in effect until all parties to which it refers are deceased, with the new possessor of the two Magical Wards accepting the former possessor's full custodial duties and responsibilities to protect them._**

 ** _Igor Pedja Karkaroff (DECEASED- 14 March, 1955 - 25 June 1995)_**

 ** _Severus Snape (9 January, 1960 -)_**

 ** _Natalia Vahyah Snape (7 November, 1977 -)_**

 ** _Anastasia Ahbaya Snape (20 April, 1980 -)_**


	2. Not such a bright idea

_A/N- yes, Snape's actions were extremely ruthless in the first chapter. But it wasn't so much OOC as it was acting out his assigned role, and playing the part, knowing that his every memory could potentially be accessed and scrutinized by Lord Voldemort. And on an off-note, RIP Alan Rickman- your portrayal of Professor Snape will never be forgotten..._

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Not Such a Bright Idea**

Severus sat in his chair, slumped forward, with his elbows firmly planted on the desk, holding his head in his hands. He'd already put the contract itself out of the way, placing it in one of the folders in one of the drawers- he already couldn't remember precisely which one of them he'd put it into, and for once, it was better that way. What on earth had possessed him to do that, to make that bargain? He hadn't expected anything, hadn't actually _wanted_ anything... That wasn't true. Reluctantly, Severus admitted to himself that he _had_ wanted whatever was being offered, once Karkaroff had placed the offer on the table. But that was only because he'd assumed it was something truly important, something that they might genuinely _need_.

Like another one of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes- they couldn't _all_ be in Britain, obviously, because the Dark Lord wasn't a complete imbecile. He'd be sure to have at least one Horcrux hidden away outside the British Isles for contingency purposes, beyond of the reach of any insurgents who might rise up to try and bring about his demise, once the anti-immigration apparition wards around the coast were brought back under the Death Eaters' control and placed on their complete quarantine setting indefinitely. And given how the Dark Lord had focused his attentions on the whereabouts of Karkaroff more than any of the other absentees, and placed greater importance on tracking Karkaroff down than any of the rest, it was the only logical assumption. What else was he supposed to think that Karkaroff had been blithering on about? This wasn't his fault- any sane and rational person in his position would have assumed that Karkaroff had been talking about two of the Dark Lord's precious Horcruxes, just as Severus had.

But Igor hadn't been. No, no Horcruxes- no step closer to bringing about the Dark Lord's long overdue permanent demise. Instead, what had Severus gotten? What 'precious possessions' had Karkaroff signed over to him instead...? Severus shook his head, pulling out the drawers one by one until he'd found the half-empty bottle he was looking for, the one which contained his own specially refined home-brewed moonshine; a relaxing mildly alcoholic beverage which he'd dubbed 'Potus Tranquillitatis', one which utilized a variety of far more palatable ingredients than the typical potion, but still managed to deliver the effectiveness of a potent calming draught. Not bothering with pouring it out into a glass, he took a long, deep swig, draining it until there was nothing left. He'd always known that Karkaroff was a spineless coward; and he'd often said that, had she been powerful enough to become a Death Eater herself, the man would have willingly sold his own mother out in order to weedle out of taking responsibility for his own follies. But this- this? This went beyond the pale.

Children. Karkaroff had had _children_. Two children- two _daughters_. One of them, Natalia, seventeen years old- she'd have just finished her sixth year, or be finishing it now. The other, Anastasia, only fourteen years of age- in the same academic year as Draco, and the Boy-who-couldn't-be-killed. And in spite of that, in spite of having them to fight for, he'd still chosen to take the coward's way out, to die without even so much as saying goodbye to them? Not just that, but willingly signed a blood-bound contract to hand them over into the custody of the very man he'd invited to kill him, in return for a swift and painless execution? Severus closed his eyes, the creases etching themselves into his frowning face deepening from mere furrows into veritable chasms. He felt sick, physically sick. If he'd known, if he'd only known, he'd have never followed through...

Scratch that- he'd never have presented the offer at all, not in a million years. Igor's chances of escaping the Dark Lord's clutches may have been infinitesimal, true- even if he had abandoned his two daughters, and even more so if he'd taken them along with him to whatever pitiful excuse for safety he'd have been able to find- but even infinitesimal wasn't the same as non-existent. If he'd known, if only Igor had told him, he _would_ have offered Igor his help; offered to help him, them, find an unplottable safehole to try and hide away in, regardless of how low the odds of their escaping the Dark Lord's clutches may have been, and of how high the likelihood that he'd be betrayed by Igor the moment that the Death Eaters caught up with the man might have been.

Why hadn't that yellow-bellied, imbecilic weakling come out with it and told him the whole truth, instead of just rolling over like that? How the hell was I supposed to have known that I'd be orphaning two young witches in the process of satisfying the man's death wish- that wasn't the deal I thought I was signing up for, damnit! What was I supposed to have done- just gone and barged in, used whatever meagre excuse for legilimency I'd still been in any state to muster after that torturous interrogation session with the Dark Lord, to intrude on all of the most private aspects of Karkaroff's personal life, the instant that I opened that door and found the man cowering here in my study? YES. _Yes, I should have_. Severus realized that now- how could he have been such an idiot? You'd just found out, only a few hours ago, that an active Death Eater, Barty Crouch Junior, had been using polyjuice potion to impersonate Alastor Moody and running a deep-cover operation here at Hogwarts for at least the past ten months, for Salazar's sake! Karkaroff could have been anyone. ANYONE!

For all he'd known, Severus _could_ have been killing a muggle, or a mudblood, placed under the Imperius curse, polyjuiced and sent here by one of the Death Eaters, perhaps even by the Dark Lord himself, to confirm his loyalties beyond doubt. He _hadn't_ , of course he knew that _now_ \- that contract, written in their blood-magic, proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that it had been the real Igor Karkaroff. But for all he knew _then_ , back when he'd actually been doing it, he _could_ have been killing another member of the Death Eaters proper, bringing the wrath of all their vengeance-seeking relatives and allies down on his head. He _could_ have been killing a member of the Order- he could think of more than a few individuals who hated his guts enough, who may well have been clinically, insanely brazen enough to come up with such a plan on the spur of the moment, brew up polyjuice potion and come charging down here to test his true loyalties for themselves, consequences and repercussions be damned. He _could_ have been killing Sirius Black, or Remus Lupin...

Who were, admittedly, two of the most palatable options running through his mind right now, but even so. If he'd wanted either of them dead, then he would have gone after them and damn well killed them back then in '79, as soon as he'd signed up and joined the Death Eaters. He hadn't been prepared to kill them back then, and he certainly didn't want to kill them now, no matter how badly he still wanted to hex their faces into oblivion every time he set eyes on them. And the other potential candidates didn't even bear thinking about. Hell, for all he knew, he could have been killing Pomona, Filius, Minerva, or even Albus... _Good lord, I could even have been killing one of my own students_! Masquerading as Karkaroff, and barging in here to try to extract an incriminating account from me under those false pretenses- _that would have been exactly the sort of mad scheme that Potter and his lot would have come up with_...! But what was he supposed to have _done_ , damn it? He _could_ have just used legilimency on the man, but he _couldn't_ \- one couldn't just, flounce about, willy-nilly, mind-raping everyone in sight. It just wasn't _right_...

"Severus! Now, time is of the essence; we must..."

 _Speak of the devil_. Right on cue, the wards he'd placed on the door to keep any sounds from getting in or out, to keep it sealed and locked up as tightly as he could, utterly disintegrated, dispelled in the blink of an eye. An instant later, Albus Dumbledore came barging in, still wearing those same grand, sweeping dress robes he'd worn to spectate the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament yesterday, which billowed out on either side, wide enough to sweep against both sides of the doorway as he made his suitably grand and stirring entrance.

As soon as he'd heard the voice, before the door had even opened, Severus had buried the memories of, what had just happened, deep down inside. Casting his mind aside, as fast as he could, he turned to reminiscing on every vivid detail of that ever-so-unpleasant and oh-so-heavy hazing which he'd been forced to endure at the little frat-party reunion which Voldemort had thrown to welcome the Death Eaters back into the fold. Which had just happened, only coming to its 'end' less than an hour ago. But it was too late. that fraction of a second had been long enough for Albus blooming Dumbledore, the Head-Master, damned psychic that he was, to somehow twig that something wasn't right; that something was somehow amiss.

"...Is everything alright? You seem..."

"Somewhat pale? Out of sorts? Well, let's see what's happened lately- The Dark Lord seems to have returned from beyond the grave at long last, in spite of all our efforts, stronger, more powerful and more inhuman than ever. And yes, virtually every single surviving Death Eater who wasn't still incarcerated rallied to his cause without a second thought or a moment's hesitation, as soon as they felt the Dark Mark burn, like the mindlessly devoted living Inferi they are- and more or less all of them have pledged the allegiance of the next generation to him as well to boot, which will more than compensate for the loss of the few who've passed on and left the land of the living since his first fall. And all of the Death Eaters' most fanatical war veterans are set to be walking out of Azkaban within the week, courtesy of its Dementor guards' inevitable defection to the side of the Dark Lord; set to make his forces more powerful, more extreme and more deranged than they ever were back then. That is, unless you magically managed to bring Cornelius Fudge around since I left earlier, and he WON'T be doing all he can to fudge everything up..."

"No such luck, I'm afraid."

"I didn't think so. But on the bright side, our supposed savior, the Boy-who-didn't-die, still isn't dead, regardless of how hard he may have tried to satisfy that insatiable death wish of his. Making that suicidal attempt to single-handedly engage the Dark Lord himself in a duel, Potter proved himself capable of mustering nothing more advanced than a pathetically simple and futile Expelliarmus, and yet somehow miraculously escaped death and escaped the Death Eaters' clutches, solely due to a series of complete and utter flukes. So no; there's nothing wrong at all. Everything's perfectly fine and dandy. Obviously."

" _Virtually_ every..." Albus Dumbledore muttered, his eyes gravitating towards a spot on the wall of Severus' study, where it appeared that a small piece of stone had been chipped off recently, since the last time he'd been down here... Severus watched as Albus' gaze slowly shifted, away from the unsightly pockmark to settle upon Barty Crouch Jr's chest, which had imprisoned Moody for the past year, and served as the Trojan Horse, enabling the Death Eater to breach the walls of Hogwarts and bring the Dark Lord's scheme to resurrect himself to fruition... "What of Karkaroff? He went running off, in a wild panic, before you did, but no-one seems to have seen him leaving the grounds, or to have had any idea as to where he was heading off to. Was he among their number, or has he fled? Or- I wonder. Do you have any idea as to where he may be, Severus?"

Damn it. The gig was up before it had even begun. There was nothing else for it- he'd have to come clean. Dropping his cold and steely facade, Severus slumped back in his chair, breathing a heavy sigh. Time to liberally apply the sacred ritual-strength Cologne- it was going to take a hell of a lot of it to try and spruce up this shit... Clearing his throat, and clearing his mind, Snape raised his eyes to look directly into those of Albus Dumbledore, which were twinkling brightly, utterly penetrating and infuriatingly impenetrable.

"Well- Actually, Albus, that's what I need to talk to you about, first and foremost. Igor Karkaroff was _not_ among their number. His inexcusable absence, and thus his clear betrayal, was more duly noted than that of any of the others who failed to attend- including even my own absence and purported betrayal, prior to my late arrival, or so I'm told. And given that I'd been cleared of all charges in the First Wizarding War when you, the Dark Lord's most hated arch-nemesis, personally took the stand in front of every wizard and witch in the Wizengamot and publicly declared me to have been your personal informant and inside man, that speaks volumes. In spite of all of that, the Dark Lord was still willing to entertain putting me to the test- indeed, willing to accept me back into the fold and absolve me of all that I'd been accused of, after I managed to convince him as to where my true loyalties lay, after subjecting me to a torture session on the end of his wand which lasted for a mere hour, if that. In stark contrast, the Dark Lord himself declared that Igor's absence and testimonies proved him to be a traitor, and that Karkaroff was now nothing more than sport, to be hunted down by the hounds and killed in the most excruciatingly entertaining manner possible."

"So, would you believe that Karkaroff has turned to the light? That he no longer allies himself with Lord Voldemort...?"

"Well, I suppose that's one way of putting it." Severus saw Albus Dumbledore's eyes widen ever so slightly, with that characteristic twinkle in them flaring up for an instant before returning to normal, and knew then that Hogwarts' Headmaster had managed to sneak a peek through his mental wards, and caught at least a small glimpse of exactly what had transpired for himself. At any other time, Snape would have been pissed off by Albus' intrusion into his private thoughts, and by the clear show of distrust. But right now, Snape was just too drained to give a damn, and decided to carry on to the end. Out loud, keeping it brief, while still going over every detail of every moment in his own mind to visualize the whole sorry affair, even if Dumbledore's legilimency meant that the man would know everything he was going to say before the words even left his mouth.

"You see, when I returned to Hogwarts, and returned here to my study, I returned to find that my office had already been unwarded- by Igor, who hadn't dared to risk going to find out for himself whether or not the Dark Lord had indeed returned, for fear of reprisal. Instead, he'd come down here, and waited for me to return. And it was only when I did return, and once I'd spelled it out for him that it had really happened, that Igor felt threatened enough to flee, and to get as far away as he could. But it was too late by then; far too late. In his panicked state, having taken leave of his senses, it was clear that Karkaroff wouldn't have lasted more than a few days on the run..."

Summoning up a chair from across the room, Dumbledore slowly sat down, solemnly shaking his head. "Oh, Severus. Why didn't you think of offering him sanctuary? There could have been a place for him in the Order of the Phoenix, he could have been of so much help to our cause... I could have kept him safe, would have made the arrangements to have him protected from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters by a member of the Order..."

Severus couldn't stop himself, couldn't contain the thoughts that burst into his head at that absurd statement; and since Dumbledore was almost certainly eavesdropping on all of those thoughts anyway, there wasn't any point of holding his tongue. "Are you joking? The thought never crossed my mind. And since I'm sure you remember what happened, that one and only time when I did leave it to you and your precious Order to arrange protection for someone who I'd wanted to protect myself, I doubt I'd have seriously considered it even if it had. You and the Order haven't even managed to protect Harry Potter, your proclaimed saviour- the Boy-Who-Lived, and only son of his practically forgotten Mother-Who-Died, thanks that rat in your Order who turned traitor and got her killed by the Dark Lord- from anyone or anything thus far, over the course of his entire life! And you really think you could have protected Igor Karkaroff? Or that you could have trusted _him_ not to switch his allegiances right back as soon as he got the chance, not to turn traitor just like Pettigrew did and betray all of us to save his own skin?"

"People can change, Severus." Dumbledore said sternly, leaning in across the desk. "There are some who are not beyond redemption; many who turn to the darkness can be turned back to the light, as you yourself well know."

"I am NOT getting into that crap now, Albus. Anyway, as I said, any early chances he might have had to take flight were already gone. When I left the Death Eaters' presence, Greyback was the clear favorite to place one's bets upon, and had already started to assemble his werewolf filth for the hunt, swearing that each and every member of his pack would be allowed to join him in feasting upon Karkaroff's flesh before the killing bite. It was as clear to Karkaroff as it was to me that he had no chance of receiving clemency; escape was no longer an option, and he rightfully feared the fate which he'd face if he were to be captured by our Dark Lord or any of the other Death Eaters more than he feared death, as any Death Eater would. He wished to end it on his own terms, swiftly and painlessly. So, I agreed to grant his wish, and in return, Igor agreed to place his 'two most valuable magical possessions' in my hands- I swore to take care of them, and to keep them out of the clutches of the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. I thought that 'they' might be a couple of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, especially given how much importance the Dark Lord had placed upon hunting Karkaroff down; but it seems that my guess was a long way off the mark. Tell me, did you ever know that Karkaroff had children...?"

Just one look at Dumbledore was enough to answer that question, and Severus groaned, raising a hand to cradle his forehead in its palm. "Why did I even bother asking? Of course you knew. You always know..."

"I'd assumed you'd have known, Severus. After all, you and Igor did run in close circles, even became friends for some time..."

"Associates, Albus. Acquaintances, at most. Not friends- never friends. But... Now, it appears that I'm sworn to uphold my vow to be the legal guardian to his children. Two children whose father just died at the end of my wand..."

Staring blankly at the desk, Snape's temper flared up again as he sensed Dumbledore's feather-light touch encroaching on his thoughts again, seemingly taking advantage of his emotionally warped and weakened occlumency wards- but it fizzled out quickly enough as Albus' intentions became clear. When Albus spoke, it was in the same consolatory, reassuring tone as the waves washing across Severus' occlumens wards.

"First, Severus- neither of the two, neither Natalia nor Anastasia, were Igor's children by birth. They were both his step-children, nothing more."

"Oh, joy. I'm sure that'll make what I just did sooo much better in their eyes. Only killing their step-dad, as opposed to killing their birth-dad. I suppose I should expect the two girls to come flocking to me, expressing their gratitude from the depths of their hearts, after having done them such a monumental favor..." Severus trailed off, momentarily taken aback by the realization that Albus had actually given nodded, as if in agreement, and had even offered an actual smile, however fleeting it may have been. He'd never thought he'd see the day- the day when the great Albus Dumbledore came over to the dark side of humor, and actually managed to acknowledge sarcasm... "Along with their mother, no doubt."

"Oh, neither of the two girls' respective mothers are still alive. Nor their birth-fathers, for that matter. Both of them are orphans."

Severus whipped his head around to face Dumbledore again, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the smug expression plastered across the man's face. "Look, Albus, I understand that it's your first attempt at this sarcasm malarkey, but even by my standards, that's going too far, and way too soon. Not amused. Not amused at all."

"Oh, I'm not being sarcastic. The elder of the two girls, Natalia, was betrothed to Igor's only son, Nestor, at the age of seven, and had been a member of the Karkaroff Household for the past nine or ten years. Unfortunately though, Nestor Karkaroff was charged with the crimes of necromancy and several counts of murder, and the Russian Dvoranstvo Magiy's sentence for him to receive the Dementor's Kiss was carried out a couple of years ago. I can recall that the betrothal contract was signed by her great-uncle, the patriarch of the Finnish House of Louhi, and that she was already an orphan then. I don't know any of the details about the circumstances of her mother's and father's respective deaths, nor when they took place- but perhaps you could ask her yourself? She was one of the students who came as part of the Durmstrang delegation for the Triwizard Tournament, but I don't think she was quite old enough to enter her name into the Goblet of Fire before the draw took place. Anyway, she's been sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall for the past year, and she's still here at Hogwarts- probably in her quarters on the Durmstrang ship, sleeping away as we speak. And she'll be there again in the morning, for breakfast. Perhaps you could speak to her then, take her aside to explain things in private as best you can?"

"I suppose I'll have to, won't I? Shit. So, then, what about...?"

"The younger child, Anastasia? Well, I may be wrong, but I seem to recall from Igor's brief mention of her that she was the only child of Igor's now deceased wife, Fioralba, from her prior marriage. After her father, a member of the House of Vadimas, died and left her mother a widow, she remarried to Igor Karkaroff, but their marriage was short-lived. Her murder was among those which Nestor Karkaroff was charged with, and found guilty of. I'm sure you're familiar with the famous Mrs. Enrichetta Zabini? Her son, Blaise, happens to be one of your fourth-years, in Slytherin."

"Yes, I'm well aware of my own charges, thank you." Severus snapped. "Especially those few who are actually worth teaching. What on earth do the Zabinis have to do with this?"

"Fioralba's maiden name was Zabini. As I recall, she was Enrichetta's first cousin- and as such, that would make young Anastasia the second cousin of Blaise Zabini. I could talk to Madame Maxime about her, see if we could arrange for her to come here to Hogwarts- she had to attend Beauxbatons Academy, in spite of Igor's efforts to enrol her at the Durmstrang Institute, since he wasn't in any position to dictate to Durmstrang's Board of Governors about changing the school's admission policy in the immediate aftermath of that dreadful business with his son. She wasn't pure enough, you see..."

 _Eh_? Severus raised a hand, cutting Dumbledore off in mid-sentence. "Wait. I thought that both the Zabinis and Vadimas were as pure-blood as they come? How could she possibly not be pure enough?"

"Well, Severus, Durmstrang's admissions policy dictates that you have to be at least three generations pure when it comes to Squib or Muggle ancestry, but at least four generations pure when it comes to Magical Being ancestry. Anastasia and Blaise's great-grandmother, the grandmother of Enrichetta and Fioralba Zabini, was a Veela. Thus, Anastasia's mixed-race heritage made her ineligible by Durmstrang's strict admissions standards."

"Then the rumors are true," Severus muttered. "Mrs. Enrichetta Zabini is part Veela after all. To the same extent as the Beauxbatons champion, Miss Fleur Delacour..."

"Indeed she is, Severus. So, shall I make the arrangements with Olympe?"

"What? Yes, yes. Let's just, get on with it, get this over and done with. Merlin..." Reflexively, Snape reached across for his bottle of _Potus Tranquillitatis_ , groaning loudly when he picked it up and remembered that he'd already downed the whole lot. "Ugh. Two young girls. Two little orphaned girls, who I just orphaned all over again. And I'm going to have to stand there, look them dead in the eyes, and tell them- what do I tell them?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something, Severus." Dumbledore stated confidently, rising from his chair. "Oh, and one last thing- I'm no more enamored with the lowest form of wit than I was before. However, I've always been fond of the form of wit which would be wasted on the stupid."

"Wait- what?" But Dumbledore was already gone, tossing a wry smile over his shoulders as he made his sweeping exit, with the door creaking shut behind him. What in Salazar's name was that last remark supposed to have meant? _I swear, it's always riddles and enigmas with that man_. Hat should've sorted him into Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor...

But at long last, Severus had his study to himself again- well, besides for Igor Karkaroff's dead corpse, lying in the casket which sat on the cobbled floor alongside his desk. Severus sat there for a few moments, staring at it. It had been far too long already- Karkaroff's spirit was long gone, into the beyond, and it wasn't coming back. Even so, he still half-expected Igor's ghost to materialize out of thin air at any moment, returning from beyond the grave with no purpose other than to drift up into his face and mock him to his heart's content.

Shoving his chair back, getting up and stamping toward his own sleeping quarters, Severus flung the emptied bottle across the room. Watched, as it frustratingly ricocheted off the dungeon wall, slammed down onto the cobbled stone floor and bounced back up into the air a few times, before it settled, and then slowly started rolling back towards him, entirely unscathed. Putting shatterproof and unbreakable charms on all of his glassware may have been practical, he mused, and may have made perfect sense, but it also made things extremely difficult for him at times like this. Right now, he really badly felt like he needed to break something, for the sake of his sanity. Tonight, had been a very long night. And tomorrow was shaping up to be a very, very long day...


	3. A Rude Awakening

**A/N- Thanks for the interest, and I'd be extremely grateful for the reviews and feedback which any of you may have to offer. This chapter got a bit long, and caught in the mire somewhat- really had to struggle through writer's block to get this posted. Unlike the last chapter, there was a suitable place to break it apart, so I did- the second part'll be coming soon enough, don't worry. Oh, and since I haven't already said this, the world and all the characters of the Harry Potter franchise are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. A toast, to her master-work- may its legacy continue to inspire us for generations to come.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Rude Awakening**

Late to bed, and easy to rise, made a man a sleep-deprived insomniac, but it wasn't as though he'd had a choice. After the apocalyptically catastrophic events of the day before- the Dark Lord's return back from his little spell in purgatory to the land of the living, followed by last night's palaver with Karkaroff, both of which would clearly have a severe and profound impact on his life for the foreseeable future- it was a wonder that he'd managed to get any shut-eye at all. In the end, he'd had to make do with barely two hours' worth in total, no more than forty minutes' unbroken sleep at most. All thanks to a host of uninvited intruders who just wouldn't leave him alone. This was the fourth time now, and it'd certainly be the last- there was no point in bothering to try and go back to sleep again now, not at quarter-to-six in the morning. But he was still going to take it out on whoever had been unfortunate enough to raise his ire. In his nightgown, Severus snatched his wand out from under his pillow, rose from his bed, willed the lighting orb on, and strode towards the door of his en-suite bathroom with a purpose.

Barely managing to avoid blasting it off its hinges, he lashed out with a swipe of his wand to fling it open, watching it slam into the wall with a satisfyingly loud bang- even louder than the bang with which his unwanted visitor had made its entry. But not nearly as loud as the unbearably high-pitched screech which it- no, she, that much was deafeningly apparent- let out upon being discovered, diving behind the bath curtain. Grinding his teeth together, Severus waved his wand again to swish the bath curtain open, wincing as it drew yet another startled squeal from the visibly frightened House Elf, leaping at least seven feet up into the air into the far top corner of the room, pressing herself up against the ceiling.

"EEEK! P-p-please, M-master Snapes, please... Winky is so sorry, she is not meaning to..."

"To wake me up from my peaceful slumber, for the fourth time this night? To invade my personal space, trying and clean and clear a room which you should have known full well was already spotless, just to satisfy your own selfish desire to 'be a really useful elf'...?"

Cowering and quivering more and more with each scathing word, the House Elf wailed loudly, huddling herself up into a little ball. With her over-large eyes glowing like red orbs in the reflected light coming in from the bedroom, and with her grossly disproportionate ears flapping away so hard by now that he could actually see the drawn curtain getting caught in the breeze, anyone would have thought from looking at her that they were looking some desperate, cornered albino bat, held aloft by those flapping wings alone. "Winky is a bad elf, a bad, bad elf... Please, Master, forgive her, she is..."

"Winky, is it? Tell me, Winky, what do you think would be a suitable puni..." Snape cut himself off, forced himself to take a long, deep breath, and reminded himself that it wasn't this Elf's fault. On any other night, he'd have had his silencing wards up, to keep out any noises which could potentially disturb his sleep from penetrating into his bedroom, enabling her to carry out her duty and keep everything spick and span like a good little servant. But after the ignominity of having been caught off guard, and ambushed in his own sanctuary, he wasn't about to let it happen again. He'd deliberately taken them down last night, and left them down, to ensure that he'd be able to get the drop on anyone or anything else that managed to breach his serpents lair, and that he'd be in a position to strike first against any potential threat. And while he might have been rudely awoken for the fourth time this night, it had almost certainly been a different House Elf each time.

The other three guilty parties were already long gone, leaving only this one, Winky, the unlucky last arrival, in the line of fire to take all of the flak herself, even though she'd been the quietest of the lot. It wasn't at all fair on her- though that wasn't the issue. No-one had ever accused him of being fair or impartial. On the other hand, plenty of people did accuse him of being vicious and sadistic, on a fairly regular basis. But looking at the House Elf, with so many tears streaming from her face and splashing down onto the tiles below that it looked and sounded for all the world as though the shower nozzle had been left open, he couldn't bring himself to derive even the slightest bit of pleasure or satisfaction from her pain or distress. Watching the pitiful little thing as she huddled up tighter and tighter, her joints audibly starting to creak, crackle and pop from the strain, it was apparent that this one was highly strung and emotional even by Elvish standards.

Last night, he'd ended up convincing Karkaroff to choose death, inadvertently killed off the man's will to fight or take flight, by spouting off instead of knowing when to hold his tongue. If he'd finished asking that question, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd decided to punish herself in the much the same manner as the Blacks' elves had reputedly been fond of doing, once they felt that they'd outlived their usefulness. Ending her own life by committing the Elvish equivalent of _Seppuku_ \- by slicing her own head off, blowing herself to kingdom come, or something else along those lines. And even if it would only have been just another lowly House Elf this time, he certainly wasn't in any mood to take any risks which could make him directly responsible for yet another death so soon after the last.

"Just, get gone, and leave me in peace. You will not harm yourself for this, you will not punish yourself for this- I alone will decide what punishment is fitting, and I alone will assign you that punishment, as and when I see fit, not before. Is that understood?"

Whimpering, the house elf nodded tearfully, then apparated away with one last sharp crack. Which, on the second time of hearing it, wasn't particularly loud after all. "Still plenty loud enough," he grouchily muttered to himself, groggily rubbing his eyes. He still felt like complete and utter shite, and taking a glance at himself in the mirror, he looked even worse than he felt, with the black bags under his eyes standing out even more prominently than his eyebrows. Thanks to those Elves repeatedly interrupting his sleep, all to satisfy that infuriating obsessive compulsion of theirs to clean, clean, clean, he'd probably have felt more rested if he hadn't slept at all. But there was no way to keep them away. They had free run of the entire castle, and there wasn't any known ward in existence which could keep a House-Elf out in a place which it had been assigned to tend to. The little blighters went everywhere...

Everywhere, that was, with the sole apparent exception of Gryffindor Tower, since the start of this year, courtesy of Miss Granger's amusingly misguided efforts to single-handedly liberate all of Hogwarts' House Elves whether they wanted to be freed or not. Perhaps he should take a leaf out of Miss Granger's book, Severus mused, and start scattering his stray socks all over the place. That'd get them to steer clear of his quarters, and leave him well alone. But then again, that'd mean that he'd have do the house-chores himself, and that would be tedious. He'd been really looking forward to watching the Gryffindors suffer, being forced to either wallow in their own filth or to actually have to clear up after themselves, clearing up all of the messes that they were so fond of making wherever they went. But alas, Dumbledore had seen it coming, contracted that addled mercenary House-Elf which had once belonged to the Malfoys to do the job and fill in for the rest of the affronted House Elves, and ended the crisis before it had even had a chance to become one. Heaven forbid that his precious Gryffindors' free spirits be tamed by the revelation that bold and impulsive actions could actually have _consequences_...

But enough hoohaa about all of that, and about missing out on his twenty winks. He had far more pressing concerns to be bothered about right now- stuff to do, places to get to, stuff to sort out. His wand still in hand, Snape started his regular routine of silently casting the Tergeo Charm, repeatedly and systematically; first tapping each item of clothing he was wearing with his wand, then his skin, before wrapping it up by running it over each and every tooth in his mouth in rapid succession, cleansing himself of all of the dead skin, sweat, plaque, dust and anything else which may have built up overnight in a matter of seconds. Looking back at the massive, newly vacated bath, following the splash patterns and the trail of Winky's spectacular waterworks, the last few lingering drops of which were still trickling down toward the plughole even now, he suddenly realized that this was the first time in almost a decade, since the first day that he'd moved in here to take up his teaching post at Hogwarts, that it had actually gotten wet.

For someone like himself, who'd completely mastered casting the Tergeo Charm by the age of fourteen by necessity, having been forced to use it on almost a daily basis during his years at Hogwarts, thanks largely to James Potter and his band of Marauders' favourite hobby of flinging the nastiest shit that they could get their hands on at him- Sirius Black in particular, who'd taken it down a notch to truly disgusting depths once he'd acquired the ability to literally pull dog turds out of his arse- it was completely redundant. He hadn't used that tub once in all the time that he'd occupied these teaching quarters. And given that that bathtub had been a custom fixture, ordered and installed by the last man who'd occupied these quarters, he had no intention of ever doing so.

Old Horny Slug had waxed lyrical about his marvelous tub, spoken of how he'd taken a good long soak in it every morning and every night without fail for the entirety of his tenure, over fifty years in total. And how he'd shown several lovely ladies the time of their lives, had "a whaling good time" with them in his tub, back in his younger years. Shuddering in spite of himself, Severus cursed his overly vivid imagination as he battled to purge the graphic images of that morbidly obese old lech wallowing around in here with them from his mind, images which were far more unsettling, nauseating and horrific than anything that he'd ever witnessed at any of the Death Eaters' revels. Turning away quickly, refusing point-blank to touch it with his hands knowing what had happened behind it, he closed the curtain, strode out of the bathroom and slammed it shut behind him.

Summoning his robes from the wardrobe, Snape swiftly got dressed, pondering how to make the most of his early start to the day as he went through the motions. Come to think it, he should be grateful for having received the opportune wake-up call when he had. Given the enormity of yesterday's events, this was likely to be the single most hectic, congested and stressful day he'd ever have to deal with in all his years at Hogwarts, and he'd need every spare moment he could get to do what needed to be done. Heading out, on his way through his study, he spared a glance for Bartemius Crouch Jnr's conveniently bequeathed casket, where the deceased Durmstrang Headmaster's not-so-warm any more corpse had been laid to rest for the time being, awaiting its proper send-off to The Dark Lord with bells and whistles attached. He had left the magically expanded chest sitting there in the middle of the room, but it gave him a bit of a start when he realised that it had been moved from the place where he'd put it last night.

Now, the chest sat straight and flush against the wall, back behind his desk. And it looked as though it had even been polished to boot. Clearly, one of those blasted Elves from earlier had been busy in here. But thankfully, the Elves' brand of magic, as irritatingly powerful as it was, wasn't capable of breaking through the runic seals which kept it sealed tight; the incriminating contents which he'd stowed inside it would be just as safe from their prying eyes as Crouch Jnr's had been. Mildly mollified, but still on edge, Severus locked his study behind him, making sure to use the most powerful wards he could muster and overlay them with a few nasty, debilitating curses on the door for good measure, before heading off through the dungeons.

That delivery could wait. The Dark Lord had always been impatient and demanding, even back in his prime, and given how much more unstable and unhinged he appeared to have become since then, courtesy of those fourteen years he'd spent in a state of incorporeal purgatory, going uninvited and unannounced like some Gryffindor glory-seeker to take it to Him could all too easily backfire. No, it would be better to be prudent, waiting until The Dark Lord summoned him through his Dark Mark to invite him back into His presence, and take it along with him then. Turning down one of the darker corridors, tweaking the sting in the gargoyle manticore's tail in the proper combination of directions to open up the adjacent entrance to one of the several secret passages in and out of the castle, Severus walked though the opening into the damp and dank passage he'd re-entered Hogwarts through last night, muttering "Lumos" to light the way in the pitch darkness as the entrance sealed itself shut behind him.

He had other matters to attend to, here and now. Two of them in particular, massive responsibilities which Igor had entrusted to him with his dying breath, and which he'd now have to deal with for the foreseeable future. And the first of them was lying in wait for him in one of the Dorm Rooms aboard the Durmstrang Institute's Fluyt, moored out there on the Great Lake, just a short distance away from the secluded lakeside inlet which this passage led out to. He imagined that the girl would either still be fast asleep, blissfully ignorant as to the night's events, or still wide awake, having stayed up all night waiting for her father-in-law to return. But her sole guardian, her patriarch, the man who'd been her father in all but blood, wouldn't be coming back. Not now, not ever. At the very least, she, Natalia, and all of the other Durmstrang students, had the right to know that much. Someone had to tell them, and tell them in the right way- and since that wouldn't be Albus, that someone would have to be him...


	4. Treading Water

**A/N- First off, sorry for the huge delay. Doesn't writer's block always strike the hardest when you try and give yourself a deadline? Not to mention personal hassle and family matters... Anyway, here it is, at long last. And of course, the disclaimer- all canon characters are the intellectual property of JKR. Reviews would be much appreciated, thanks.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Treading Water**

Emerging from the near total darkness of the tunnel, Severus squinted, covering his eyes for a moment or two to avoid being half-blinded by the intense glare of the early morning sun, just about clear of the treeline over on the opposite side of the Lake, shining down directly in his face. It may have only been just past six in the morning, but it was slap-bang in the middle of summer, less than a week after the solstice. Even at this early hour, he could feel the warmth of the sun's rays on his pale, sun-starved skin, and he drank it in, basking in its radiant glow. He spent too much time down in the dungeons and in the darkness for his liking nowadays. Standing here in the clearing formed by this small inlet of the Great Lake, enveloped by the pine trees of the Forbidden Forest almost from all sides, it took him right back to the days of his childhood. Just about the only fond memories of his childhood that he still had, the only times when he'd ever been able to feel happy and carefree. Running through the fields and the open clearings in the vast Forest of Arden, out on the outskirts of Cokeworth, laughing and playing to his heart's content, with the most joyful, exuberant, magically beautiful girl in the worl...

Severus snapped out of it, ruthlessly choking off that train of thought with a iron grip. Looking down at the water in the inlet, still murky but markedly clearer than the water out in the Great Lake itself, he noted that the shallows around the water's edge were strewn with water lilies, in a cacophony of different colors. All of them in full bloom, all of them silently mocking him with their life, sweet fragrance and vibrancy. The genuine smile which had made its rare, fleeting appearance on his face withered away and died in an instant, to be replaced by the stony half-sneer, half-scowl once more. He wasn't here to cast a Patronus, damn it. Even if it would have been the easiest, quickest and most convenient way to do this, using his Patronus to go and tell the girl, this Natalia, what she needed to be told for him. No, he was here because he'd killed Igor Karkaroff, mere hours ago; and even if it had been at Igor's own request, it didn't change the fact that he'd done so in cold blood. Killed the man who'd been this girl, Natalia's, and her sister-in-law Anastasia's, father for most of their lives.

Albus, along with a fair few of the members of his Order of the Phoenix, might well possess the delusional, evangelical levels of belief in their own self-righteousness to do it that way- by sending the corporeal embodiment of their own happiness, joy and contentment as their message-bearer, and using it to tell a girl that her father-in-law had just willingly laid down his own life for the sake of keeping her and her sister-in-law safe, 'for the greater good'. But he didn't have that in himself. Unlike them, he was well aware that he was a complete and utter scumbag- he had to be to even be capable of thinking of such things, able to simply turn his mind away and immerse himself in blissful nostalgia. For him to be reminiscing about the sunniest and most cheerful memories of his entire life, at a time like this, after doing what he'd done, and given the grievousness of he'd come here to tell the girl, was perhaps even more unforgivable than that curse he'd used last night had been. He would not show that kind of blithe disregard; he'd come here to do this properly, to say what needed to be said face-to-face and in person. And he'd already dilly-dallied here by the lakeside for far too long.

Shaking his head, Severus started power-walking along the grassy banks of the floral weed-infested inlet, beating a path towards the main body of the Great Lake. Soon enough, the number of trees standing in his way thinned out enough for him to get a clear view of the Durmstrang Ship, off in the distance, exactly where he'd expected it to be. Not moored up on the pier alongside Hogsmeade, as it would be during the day and in the evenings, but anchored out there in the Lake, a fair distance from the shoreline- to prevent its students from sneaking out and breaking curfew, no doubt. As ready as he'd ever be, Severus cast the Tergeo Charm on his clothes again to leave them spotless once more, dispelling all of the mud and dirt which he'd picked up in the filthy secret tunnel, along with the stray piece of bramble and several stray pine needles which had apparently hitched a ride on his billowing robe in the last few moments. Staring intently at the barely visible bridge of the ship he'd be boarding for the first time, focusing on his destination, he apparated...

"Oof!"

...and promptly found himself slamming into something in transit, hard and painfully, knocking all of the air out of him. Half-stunned, Severus just managed to recover his senses soon enough to realize that he was plummeting downward, spinning and tumbling through the air. Casting the Arresto Momentum spell should have been child's play, even in spite of being unable to reach his wand or to find enough breath in his lungs to utter a word. But that impact had taken a lot of energy out of him, and he barely managed to scrape his scattered thoughts back together well enough to cast it before taking a plunge into the murky green waters of the lake below. Severus cursed silently, fighting to re-orientate himself and get his befuddled senses back, waiting for his foggy vision to clear again. But his head was perfectly, painfully clear. OF COURSE the vessel had anti-apparition wards. Any magical nautical vessel, especially one magically crafted for the Norse Magical School of Durmstrang, built to convey the heirs to several of the most powerful pureblood dynasties in the world across the oceans, would have to have apparition wards built into it.

Even the Hogwarts Express had anti-apparition wards runically crafted into it, to prevent potential hijackers or kidnappers from apparating aboard. But these wards, the ones that had just kept him out, weren't regular anti-apparition wards, not like the ones which Hogwarts used- he'd heard of this sort of anti-apparition warding before, in the course of his own research into the 'Dark Arts' (or, more accurately, the _illegal_ Arts). These types of wards didn't just politely bar wizards and witches from attempting to apparate to or from anywhere within a given range- on the contrary, anyone could apparate within their invisible walls freely, with no trouble at all. No, these were designed to simply splinch apart any would-be intruders or escapees who tried to apparate their way in or out through the wards' perimeter instead. Which, given where he'd ended up popping out, looked to be set at about ten meters away from the ship's hull.

In spite of himself, Severus felt a shiver run down his spine. At that moment when he'd crashed into it, it had been all he could do to hold his focus and keep himself together, rebounding off the barrier intact and all in one piece. The concentration of practically any other witch or wizard less proficient and disciplined in mind magic than himself would have been shattered, and they'd have been splinched apart, dissected, by that impact. Even himself- if he'd been even the slightest bit less focused, if he'd taken slightly less time to gather himself before apparating, or if he'd been distracted by anything at all in that split second when he had, then he could very well have been Grindylow Chow right now. How could he have been such an imbecile?! Get it together, man. Who did he think he was- Harry bloody Potter? He couldn't just trust in blind luck, damn it! Though he'd certainly consider going into his personal stockpiles and adding a drop or two of Felix Felicis to his morning coffee for the time being. He'd certainly need it, in the months to come...

Managing to summon his wand into his hand, Severus levitated himself clear of the water; flicked himself upwards and swiftly cast the freezing charm on the water beneath him, creating a steady sheet of ice upon which to stand, and in which the wet soles of his shoes were firmly anchored into place, giving himself a sure and steady footing. Muttering "Wingardium Leviosa," out loud this time, and going through the proper wand motions to get more force behind it, Severus levitated his improvised platform upwards, hauling himself out of the water and through the air, towards the open deck where he'd sought to apparate onto in the first place. With some relief, he noted that there was no-one yet up and out on deck, and that all of the cabin porthole windows facing this way were empty; he'd half-expected them all to be filled up with the faces of gawking students, pointing him out and laughing their heads off at how he'd made a fool of himself. It wasn't much to be thankful for, but quite frankly, given his recent run of form, he'd take what he could get.

Touching down on the deck, he vanished the ice away in a stroke, and marched towards the cabin door to the decks below. He could have knocked, but quite frankly, after all of that palaver, he wasn't in the mood. Plucking apart the token wards, unlocking it with ease, Snape used his wand to slam it wide open, and descended down into the ship, smoothing out his billowing cloak to double-check that it hadn't gotten creased, torn or tangled in the stymied apparition attempt or the fall. However, rather than the entrance passageway he'd expected this short staircase to lead down into though, he found that it led directly into the main hall of the Durmstrang Ship- what was the proper naval term for it again? Ah yes, the 'mess deck'. It looked rather like home- quite similar to the Slytherin Common Room, truth be told, but ironically far lighter, brighter and less gothic, with an enchanted ceiling to show the clear blue sky as it was outside, and the rising morning sun shining down warmly from its current place in the sky. And unlike the Slytherin Common Room, there wasn't all of that clutter- no tapestries, no cupboards, no faux-dark magical objects like skulls lying about everywhere. Just a few plain black armchairs and white sofas here and there, set against the walls down the lengths of the room, and a single long and narrow table running down the middle of the room, with benches on either side.

There were already a few other early risers up and about- five students in all, clustered in two different groups, all of them sitting at the table, chatting away and tucking into their first meals of the day. Or at least they had been, up until he'd come along. Now, now they were staring at him, gawking and pointing him out- but thankfully, none of them were laughing. All of them seemed thoroughly intimidated by his entrance, and inwardly, Severus smiled in relief. Outwardly though, he hardened his expression, setting himself to be as grim and stony as possible. Looking around, he duly noted that there were a total of seven doors leading in and out of the Durmstrang Ship's mess deck in total- the one that he'd just emerged from, at the rear end of the room, which led out onto the open deck, and six set into the walls, three on either side, interspaced at regular intervals along the length of the long room. Recalling the ship's external appearance, he had little doubt that the central one, on the starboard side, led to the actual main entrance passageway, out towards the access ramp to walk on and off the ship- he'd definitely be making his exit in that direction.

For a few moments, he stood there in silence, allowing the tension to build. The closest door on the port side opened inwards with a creak, and Severus turned to fix his gaze upon a couple of female students as they emerged into the room, who were initially engrossed in chatting to one another, but quickly froze in the doorway, startled into silence by his unexpected presence. Could either of them be Natalia, the girl he'd effectively orphaned last night? Somehow, given the language that'd they'd been conversing with each other in- Lithuanian, from the sounds of it?- he very much doubted it. But he could easily be wrong... Severus turned his gaze back firmly upon the closest group of three students sitting at the table, all of whom were male. And all of whom had the impression that he was either incapable of overhearing their whisperings, or incapable of comprehending Durmstrang's lingua franca, Dano-Norwegian. With any of the other teachers at Hogwarts beside Professor Babbling, they'd have been correct. Not so with him, however.

" _Isn't that one of the Hogwarts Professors? The Potions Master?_ "

" _Yes, the Head of House Slytherin- Snape, I think. Isn't he supposed to be the deputy head as well?_ "

" _No, the Deputy Head's the Transfiguration Master, Head of House Gryffindor..._ "

" _Wait, isn't Dumbledore from House Gryffindor as well? How is that fair?_ "

" _It's not fair. It's openly biased; you hear what the Slytherin Prefects were saying about that House Cup they'd normally have, every year?_ "

" _Yes, I think I heard about that. With Gryffindor getting awarded just enough points to win it every time, right at the end of year ceremony, no matter who actually won...?_ "

" _Well, if you ask me, the novelty of their whole House system thing wore off within the first week. It's colorful and all, but it's divisive, and stupid as heck..._ "

" _Enough about that for now, you two. He's looking at us..._ "

" _What do you think he's doing here?_ "

" _You wanna go ask him then, Fonzell?_ "

" _Like hell I do. I thought Karkaroff was fearsome, but he's got nothing on that guy._ "

" _Conrad?_ "

" _Don't even ask me, Karl. Go on, Deputy Head Boy- it's your responsibility, not ours..._ "

" _Fine, fine. Thanks a lot, guys..._ "

Still purposefully standing there in the open doorway, with his cloak still billowing out behind him in the light updraft, Severus cranked up the intensity of his stare, turning it on the tallest of the three, a student with light brown hair, high cheekbones and a goatee- Karl, no doubt- as he rose from his seat. To the boy's credit though, even when caught in the full glare, while clearly hesitant, cowed and intimidated to an extent, he didn't turn around or stop in his tracks, but still resolutely kept approaching him regardless, walking across to close down the gap between them.

"Hallo. You are Professor Snape, ja? You knew our Headmeister vell?"

"Yes, I am Professor Snape, and yes, I did know your Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, pretty well. Well enough- or at least I thought I did."

"So, vot has happened zen? He has disappeared, gone on de run- but nein. All of his things, dey are still here in his study cabin."

Well, well. Given Igor Karkaroff's magical skills in breaking and entering, and the man's increasing paranoia over the past few months, Snape hadn't expected Igor's own security to be nearly so lax as that comment implied; but then again, within the confines of this war-warded ship, as it was within the walls of Hogwarts, it would be all too easy to let one's guard down, especially for one's own students. He'd have had no choice but to allow his own students and other members of his staff access through the wards, just as was the case with his own office back at Hogwarts. And of course, Severus contemplated morbidly, if Igor had put wards up to alert him to any intrusions, they'd be completely redundant now. "Very observant of you, Mr...?"

"Reuchlin. I am Karl Frederich Reuchlin, und... Vell, I had been expecting our champion Viktor Krum to be back by now, but he is still not back, and neither is Headmeister Karkaroff, so I suppose that as the Deputy Head Boy, I am the person to be speaking to for ze Durmstrang students instead, for time being at least."

As the young man's sense of pride and self-importance took over, and the young man's tone and bearing grew firmer, Reuchlin straightened his posture to stand tall; as a matter of fact, perhaps an inch taller than Severus himself, forcing Severus to turn his gaze upward to maintain eye contact with him. So, this boy thought he could handle being the big man, eh? Well, he asked for it- we'll soon see if he's up to the task or not... Severus raised a furtive eyebrow, smoothing out what would have otherwise have been an acidic smirk into a neutral, amiable smile.

"Are you indeed? Well, in that case, Reuchlin, you should have no problem getting all the members of the Durmstrang delegation gathered together within the next five minutes, should you? I have an grave and urgent announcement to make; one of the utmost importance, and one which all of you will need to hear straight away."

Reuchlin visibly slumped. Blinked in disbelief, he just stood there for a moment or two, momentarily stunned by the daunting prospect of the challenge he'd let himself in for. Dropping the pretense of a smile, Severus hardened his expression, sharpening his tongue and adopting a harsher tone.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Did you hear me or not? Go and get them, now."

"Yes, yes, I heard- but all of them? In five minutes? _Wie schaffe ich das in erst funf minuten_...?"

" _Innerhalb. Das ist, weniger als funf minuten_. Time is very much of the essence, and you're wasting it by standing around. Go on- wake them up if you have to, march them out and get them in here. Whatever they'd rather be doing, it can wait. This, on the other hand, cannot."

"Er... Yes _, jawohl_ , Professor Snape..."

* * *

A/N- Snape is NOT an irredeemable scumbag- he just believes that he is. We know that Snape is an incredibly harsh and scathing critic- and since I've chosen to go with an interpretation of his character which doesn't make him a total hypocrite, it only seems logical that he'd be equally harsh and scathing when criticizing himself. And I'd like to offer my apologies, if there are any German readers who feel that the portrayal of Reuchlin and the representation of his accent were a bit OTT.


	5. Breaking the News

**So sorry for the writers' block, and for real life coming in and interfering; but it's back at last! This chapter was a tough one to write, and the longest so far, but finally managed to push through and get it posted at long last. Once again, this is JKR's world, and these are her characters, not mine; all credit goes to her. And I'd be really grateful for a review or two, or even just a bit of feedback or criticism via PM. Anyone? Anybody at all?**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Breaking the News**

Four minutes and forty-eight seconds later, Severus Snape surveyed the Durmstrang ship's mess deck, and had to begrudgingly admit that the young man, Reuchlin, had somehow managed NOT to make a complete and utter hash of the task he'd been assigned. True, not everyone had emerged from their living quarters- a fair few stragglers were still emerging from the side doors even now, and clumsily shuffling across to join their fellow students at the long table. And the less said about their current states of decor, garb and presentation the better; a visible minority were still in their nightclothes. But according to his own tally, with a total of thirty-nine people in the Durmstrang delegation excluding Viktor Krum, there were only six latecomers who hadn't yet come out, to join the others in the mess deck and take their seats at the long table. And most importantly, given his concealed main purpose in coming here, none of those six absentees were girls- all seventeen members of the delegation's female constituent were now here, including the elder of his two new charges.

While Reuchlin may have failed to get everyone out in the alloted time, he'd only failed by a hair's breadth, and not for lack of trying- he'd certainly earned an Exceeds Expectations grade, and in a different time and place, in private, commendations might have been in order. However, right here, and right now, all he could allow himself to offer was a lack of scathing criticism, limiting his response to casting a brief, dismissive glare in the young man's direction. Respect had to be maintained, as did reputations and appearances, and keeping one's word. When he said what he'd come here to say, there couldn't be any grounds upon which to doubt the truth of his words- he'd said five minutes, and he meant five minutes; those five minutes had now passed, and he wasn't showing weakness by waiting any longer. That time was up, and it was time to begin.

"Alright, everyone, settle down. Silence... Shut up. SHUT, UP. _Til sist gang, HOLD KJEFT! Ja, ja, jeg forstår. Jeg forstår det veldig godt_. And I know full well that all of you other students understand what I'm saying as well, so silence yourselves, or I'll silence the lot of you myself, do I make myself clear? Now then..."

"Where is Viktor? Why isn't he here? He should be here- what has happened? He isn't- he couldn't be..."

"He could very well have been, but so far as I know, he is not. I'd presume that Mr. Krum would still be in the hospital wing- it appears that he was placed under the Imperius Curse before entering the maze for the third task, and they weren't sure if..."

"Vot? Zey did VOT?! No vonder he did not vin- he vos sabotaged!"

 _Oh, great. Here we go_... Severus rolled his eyes, resisting the overwhelming urge to kill off this utterly pointless and trivial tangent in its infancy by hexing the lot of them into silence, and held his tongue in the hope that it'd peter out soon enough. But it didn't- it continued to build more and more momentum, as more and more of the Durmstrang students were swept up in the outcry, getting riled up along with the others and adding their own voices to that of the mob.

"Zis, zis is an outrage!"

"An Unforgivable, performed on our Champion! By one of yours, no doubt..."

"Ve, ve must do de tournament again, re-run de task, but fairly this time..."

"How long before? How long had Krum been placed under it...?"

"It vos Hermoninny Granger, wasn't it! WASN'T IT? I knew, I KNEW IT! Why else vould Viktor leave ME for HER, for that Mudblood hussy...?!"

That last voice, a high-pitched caterwaul which cut through all of the rest like the sound of McGonagall's animagus' claws scratching across a chalkboard, eroded away what little scant patience he'd been able to muster in the space of a mere couple of seconds. Unable to stand the unholy din any longer, Severus rose from his chair, slamming his fists down on the table and turning his glare on the guilty party- Viktor Krum's former girlfriend, from the sounds of things. "ENOUGH! There will be no more interruptions! Now- who are you, girl...?"

The tall, glamoured-up strawberry-blonde brashly returned his glare, as hard as she could, but there wasn't much in there to see. Right now, she was too consumed by her cockamamie theory and her imaginings to give him too much of a glimpse of anything else; and quite clearly, this girl was as dense as a brick. Please, PLEASE don't let that be her, don't let that be Natalia, I don't think I could cope... "I am Rada, Rada Asparukh. And do not try to deny it! Her, and Harry Potter- it must have been them, working together! You, you cannot cover for them...!"

 _Oh, thank you sweet Merlin_... Breathing a heavy sigh of relief in spite of himself, Severus just about managed to catch himself before it had a chance to escape his mouth, and to turn it into a derisory snort of derision. "Hmph. No, Miss Asparukh, much as I'm grudged to admit it, neither Granger nor Potter were involved in that particular misdeed."

"You lie! She had to have! Viktor...!"

"Krum was only Imperiused for less than an hour. By an escapee from Azkaban who has already been caught. Clearly, Krum simply found Miss Granger's company far more intellectually stimulating than your own. Quite possibly, Granger may have offered him more stimulation that you were ever capable of offering him, in a few other regards as well. Frankly, I couldn't care less."

Knocked for six, Asparukh gaped like a fish, her eyes bulging wide open in shock and dismay. Severus turned away, closing his eyes, but not quickly enough to avoid getting a nauseating glimpse of the girl's sordid imaginings. A putrid mess of imaginary scenes, all of which featured Krum engaged in sexual activities with a warped, barely recognisable version of Hermione Granger- one so slutty, filthy and perverted that her lurid actions would have been enough to convert even Rita Skeeter into an Unspeakable on the matter. That, along with the sniggering of more than a couple of the other Durmstrang students at the spectacle Asparukh was making of herself, left a sour taste in his mouth. Snape slammed a fist down on the table again, restoring near-silence once more.

"NOW, then- if you're all done? I'm afraid that I don't care in the slightest about the Triwizard Tournament's non-result. No-one does, not any more. And in all likelihood, unless Madame Maxime's elected to keep her own lot in the dark, you'll be the last students here who haven't been made aware of what truly happened last night. Well, most of you, in any case. I'm absolutely certain that a fair few of you already know full well what happened, what it is that I'm here to inform the rest of you of."

Slowly, deliberately, Snape turned to fix his gaze upon one of the boys sitting on the left, toward the far end of the table. Who he'd spotted out of the corner of his eye, visibly shuddering at the very mention of last night, and whose heavy build, rugged features, palamino-colored hair and atrociously gnarly teeth immediately rang a bell. "Isn't that right. What's your name, boy? You. Yes, you. Out with it..."

"Boris D-Dolohov, sir."

"Oh, yes. You most certainly will know exactly what I'm talking about, Dolohov. Would you care to enlighten any of the rest of your schoolmates?"

"I, I... I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing..."

"That much is visibly apparent for all to see. Anyway, I'm here to remedy that, and to fully inform you in your Headmaster's unfortunate absence. Now then- I'm utterly certain that all of you Durmstrang students will be infinitely more well-versed in the History of Magic than the students here at Hogwarts, but even so, perhaps it would be best to start with a little refresher. You should all still remember the events which took place at last year's Quidditch World Cup, I imagine? After the final trophy presentation, during the subsequent celebrations? The site's security had either been infiltrated or comprised, and was over-run by a large group of wizards and witches inclined towards the darkness, and with ill intent toward many of those in attendance. One of those wizards fired a spell skywards to create a large symbol, one which triggered the descent of the crowd into sheer panic, fear and chaos. This symbol, in fact."

Severus brandished his wand, casting his thoughts back to Karkaroff's last living moment, to his freshest and clearest memory of killing; then, in the proper mental state required to do so, he silently cast the spell which he hated more than any other, making an effort to hold it in check and keep it as small as he could for as long as possible. **_Morsmordre_**... A miniature version of The Dark Mark, the symbol of Lord Voldemort, erupted from the end of his wand. He'd seen this spell, seen that glittering green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth being conjured far too many times, more than he could count. But he'd only had to cast it himself on five occasions, back in the day. This, right now, was the sixth. No-one outside this room would see it, and no-one else besides himself would ever know, but this, this was the Mark which marked the passing of Igor Karkaroff. The first thing he noticed was that while a fair few of the Durmstrang students reacted in the same way that Hogwarts' students would have done, recoiling from it in fear and terror, most of them didn't react with anything more than mere curiousity. And a couple of them looked completely indifferent, perhaps even bored.

Even the Hogwarts students, though, didn't know the true implications of casting the _Morsmordre_ spell, one of the spells invented by The Dark Lord himself. Only those who'd been initiated into the Death Eaters, and precious few others, knew that the spell could only be cast by those who'd killed someone in cold blood. And so far as he knew, no-one alive besides himself, Dumbledore and Caradoc Dearborn- and of course, its creator Lord Voldemort- had any knowledge as to the true nature of the spell. _Morsmordre_ wasn't just some parlor trick spell, didn't have the sole purpose of raising a luminescent banner for the Dark Lord. Instead, the _Morsmordre_ spell displayed the totemic symbol of the cause that the caster had killed in the name of. He'd only witnessed Dumbledore's _Morsmordre_ for an instant, and it hadn't fully formed, but it had looked like the figure of a young girl, and had been a shimmering, ethereal white colour, almost like that of a ghost. As for Dearborn's _Morsmordre_ , the last spell he'd ever been witnessed casting according to the now long-dead Death Eater who'd gone up against him on that night, it had purportedly been the flaming vermillion symbol of the Order of the Phoenix. _As indeed those of so many other members of the Order would undoubtedly be, if they were brave enough to try casting the spell for themselves_.

Severus' thoughts turned to the retired Auror who'd been kept tied up and locked up inside Karkaroff's impromptu coffin for the past year, perhaps the worst offender of them all among the Order. Alastor Moody proudly bragged about how he'd slaughtered over a hundred Death Eaters, when in reality, his tally of actual, marked Death Eaters only stood at a meager eleven. The only reason Moody's own count was so high was because the sadistic bastard had counted each and every person who'd he had ever suspected of having ever fraternized with a Death Eater as being Death Eaters themselves, and dispatched them as if they had been, without hesitation and without remorse. Friends and families- _brothers and sisters, parents and children_... Several of the Durmstrang students flinched, with some raising their hands to shield their eyes, as the glittering green miniature Dark Mark he was holding suddenly flared up from the surge of hatred washing over him, brightly enough to cast shadows and silhouettes on the walls. Up until he'd heard that story, he'd hated Dearborn's guts nearly as much as Moody's. But since he'd heard about that though, and figured out why it was that Dearborn had gone AWOL and disappeared without trace, he'd had nothing but respect for the man, perhaps even a hint of admiration. At least there had been _one_ member of the Order who'd realised that Dark Acts committed in the name of the Light were still Dark, regardless of their _oh-so-noble_ cause...

Realising he'd held the dramatic pause for a shade too long, Severus cleared his throat, dispelled his _Morsmordre_ spell and continued his speech. "That particular symbol, is known as 'The Dark Mark'. It is the totemic symbol of the most powerful Dark Lord in living memory, and was magically engraved into all those who were inducted into his fold, the Death Eaters, binding them to him as his loyal followers and supporters during the initial peak of his strength and influence. I have encyclopedic knowledge of the Durmstrang curriculum, so if you're not completely incompetent and hopeless students, each and every one of you will all have intricate, detailed knowledge of Taboo Magic, and of the guiding principles behind it. So, let us put The Dark Lord's sheer magical potency into perspective- Gellert Grindelwald himself placed a Taboo upon someone's else's name at one point during the Great Wizarding War, expending a great deal of energy in the process, and that taboo's range extended across most of continental Europe. This Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named? The magical Taboo invoked by speaking his name extended, not just across Europe, but enveloped the entire surface of the globe. This bears testament to just how all-encompassing the power and magical dominion of The Dark Lord truly was.

"Nonetheless, some fourteen years ago, he met a downfall of sorts, when he attempted to kill an insignificant infant, whose parents had defied him. He killed that little boy's parents with consummate ease, just as he'd already effortlessly killed hundreds of other wizards and witches. But for some unknown, unfathomable reason, his own killing curse rebounded upon him instead, leaving the infant almost entirely unharmed. The Dark Lord's lifeless body was brought in front of the Wizengamot for all to see, burnt to ashes and placed in a consecrated jar, which was then tossed through into a dark abyss from which nothing can return. And so, the infant was touted as the messianic saviour who saved all of Wizard-kind from the 'evil forces of darkness'. This infant was, of course, 'The Boy Who Lived'. Harry Potter, the only person in recorded history who has ever been independently verified to have survived being struck directly by a Killing Curse.

"Or, at the very least, he was, until yesterday's events. But now, we all know better. There was indeed another who achieved the same feat. He did so on the same fateful night that Potter did- and now, The Dark Lord has restored himself to become more powerful than he ever was, and has returned to finish what he started. Cedric Diggory, the rightful Hogwarts Champion and victor of the Triwizard Tournament, was murdered yesterday, by his command. And at least one other Wizard has already shared the same fate; another wizard with whom you would all have been far more closely acquainted than Diggory. But one of you, in particular, will have been more closely acquainted with this wizard than any of the rest. And I ask that this individual accompany me back to the castle immediately. There are- certain matters, which need to be discussed privately, which we need to resolve as swiftly as possible. Miss Natalia Vahyah Karkaroff?"

Almost as one, the Durmstrang students (including the last three latecomers, who'd come in through one of the side doors in the past minute or so) took a deep, sharp intake of breath- a wave of whispering swept across the deck. Then, as they muttered themselves into silence, each and every one of them turned their attentions to one girl in particular, sitting towards the middle of the long table on the left side. The only one among them who was still sitting there, just as still and as silent as she'd been at the start, and hadn't so much as fidgeted. Stepping away from his place at the head of the long table where he'd been standing up until now, Severus skirted around the main group, making his way towards the door which led to the Durmstrang ship's main boarding ramp. Turning back around, tapping his foot in mock impatience, he at last had an unimpeded view, allowing him to take a good, long look at the elder of the two girls who'd been unfortunate enough to find themselves entrusted into his custody. At Natalia.

The first thing which struck him about the Finnish girl was that she was rather small in stature, certainly for her age. Perhaps the smallest student in the entire Durmstrang delegation. Short enough to be obscured by the throng of students who were huddling in around her, even when she slowly, shakily rose from her seat at the table and got to her feet. The girl looked to be barely 5 feet tall, if that, with a delicate build. And the second thing that struck him was how many uncanny similarities there were between her features and his own. Natalia's hair was raven-black, the exact same color as his own, and hung in long, wavy curtains around her face, down to her shoulders, just as his did. Unlike his though, hers was far smoother and silkier, better kept and better treated. Well, obviously- any treatment at all would make her hair 'better treated' than his own. But well-kept by anyone's standards. Likewise, her skin was pretty much the exact same tone as his own, but whereas his own skin was in relatively poor condition, hers was in perfect condition, soft, smooth and completely unblemished. As she turned towards him, and made her way across to the door by which he stood, allowing him to catch a glimpse of her eyes for the first time, Severus saw that even Natalia's irises were the same color as his own; almost perfectly black, pitch-dark and nearly as featureless as her pupils.

As a near-Master of Legilimency, he could count the number of people who could hold up against the full scrutiny of his gaze on the digits of one hand. It required a lifetime's work to gain the kind of control over one's impulsive thoughts and emotions needed to stand up to it without letting at least a few samples of their immediate thoughts slip. He's honed the skill to the extent where he was capable of effortlessly getting a read on the immediate thoughts and feelings of every single student at Hogwarts; being the boisterous and undisciplined youths that they were, their minds were like open books. These Durmstrang students were no different; slightly more of a challenge than the typical Hogwarts student, but still not much more so than the average Slytherin. And in such circumstances as these, no matter how good she may have been at masking them, he'd have expected her emotions to be leaking out of her like water out of a sieve.

But as Natalia approached the door, stood there in front of him and craned her neck upwards to make eye contact with him for the first time, staring up into his eyes, Severus suddenly found himself locked out, unable to glean even a single drop more through passive methods. An impressive feat, at any time; but at a time such as this, given the emotional blow she'd just suffered? Inconceivable. It wasn't her uncanny natural gift for Occlumency that took Severus aback though, caught him off guard and nearly left him lost for words. It was the tiny glimpse of what he had seen, the few specks he'd managed to pick up in the split second before she'd slammed the door to her mental workings in his face. It hadn't been much, but it had been enough for him to tell that there was definitely something that wasn't quite right here. The tone of her thoughts, and the color shift of her emotional spectrum, had been way off, all over the place…

"My h- Headmaster, my Patriarch, Igor- he is dead? Murdered?" Natalia asked, softly, quietly. She was still looking up into his eyes, holding eye contact with him, not blinking any more or less than was perfectly natural. Her tone was neutral, her expression as unreadable as her eyes and her mind were. He'd caught enough to realize that there was a maelstrom of emotion surging through her, and he knew from personal experience that her head must be spinning by now from the effort of keeping it all in check. If he looked close enough, Severus could spot the signs, see that she was a tad less steady on her feet now than she had been when she'd been walking over from the table, but outwardly, she wasn't letting even a trace of her emotion show through. And looking down into her eyes, returning her gaze, Snape found himself starting to feel increasingly unsteady and light-headed as well, trying to maintain his own façade against the storm-surge of guilt welling up inside of him. For both her sake and his own, they needed to get going, now.

Breaking off eye contact, Severus swept back around to face the rest of the students in the Durmstrang delegation, clearing away the non-existent lump in his throat and addressing them all in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well now, I believe that I've said what needs to be said here, told you all that you need to know for the time being. And those of you who haven't yet worked out who I'm talking about, I'd only be wasting my time by trying to get it through your thick heads. Dumbledore will no doubt have his own speech planned for the impending Leaving Feast, and I'm sure it'll be very inspirational and motivational, so I'll leave that to him. You're all dismissed; nonetheless, I'd advise those of you in a less presentable state to go back to your quarters, and make more of an effort before venturing out. Good day…"

Dismissing them all with a sweep of his hand, not taking a second look in their direction even as he could hear the Durmstrang students starting to rise from their seats at the table and eagerly engage in conversations with one another about the little chat he'd just had with them all, Severus started to reach for his wand pocket. Then thought better of it, remembering what had happened earlier, and elected to err on the side of caution, pushing the boarding ramp's door open with his hand instead. Holding it open for her, he turned back to face Natalia again, lowering his voice so that only she'd be able to hear, and adopting a gentler, more genuine tone. "Come, Natalia. If there's anything you need, you can come back for it later, or someone can be sent back to get it for you. Now, though, we need to leave."

Standing there beside him, illuminated by the morning sun shining in through the open doorway, with her fur cloak billowing out behind her in the breeze, Natalia hesitated for a moment. Closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them again. Then, clasping her hands, and offering a silent nod, stepped through with him. Together, they descended the boarding ramp, and left the Durmstrang Ship behind.

* * *

That silence had now gone on for a fair bit longer than he'd thought it would, Severus thought, as he set about deactivating each of the brand-new amped-up magical wards he'd put in place earlier, to protect his study from any further unwanted intrusions. Natalia was standing there a couple of steps behind him, in the corridor. The small Finnish girl hadn't uttered a word over the course of the long walk back here from the ship. With her in tow, he'd taken the conventional route, back through Hogsmeade, as opposed to going back the same way he'd came earlier. And by the time he'd descended the staircase into the dungeons- docking points from a couple of his own sixth-years in passing, knowing that the two of them were heading off with the intention of sharing a broom closet together- he'd been seriously contemplating whether it had been worthwhile enduring the excruciatingly uncomfortable silence for so long, or whether he'd have been better off just sharing the secret of his Fidelius-protected residence back in the village with her straight away, and going to have this chat in there instead. Even now, even with all the new wards, he didn't feel completely comfortable having this chat with Natalia here- there was a niggling voice in the back of his head telling him that the walls of Hogwarts had eyes and ears, and that all of them reported to the Headmaster, to Albus.

Still, never mind. He was, they were, here now. And now- Severus finished deactivating the last of the magical wards, pushing the door open and walking back into his study- it was time to deal with the matter at hand. Plonking himself down in his seat, behind his desk, Severus watched as his other brand-new Magical Ward, of a very different shape and form, followed him in, maintaining her distance, poise and silence. Using his wand to close the door behind her, going through the motions and muttering the incantations under his breath to reactivate the wards on it, he raised an eyebrow as Natalia remained standing in the middle of his study, in front of his desk. Her face still wasn't giving anything away, and neither were her eyes- she was just standing there, steadily gazing at him, as if she was waiting for him to say something, for him to give her permission. If only his own students were so respectful, Severus thought to himself, trying to make light of it- but the words rang hollow. Truth be told, it was starting to creep him out a bit, setting him on edge.

"Please, Natalia. Pull up a chair, take a seat."

Natalia pulled up a chair, sat down.

"So. Natalia. I suppose you'll want to know the details. Of what I brought you here to discuss, what needs to be resolved."

Natalia nodded.

Irritated, Severus huffed, his nostrils flaring for a moment before he managed to smooth it all away, doing his best to smile it off. Have to make a good first impression- think 'fatherly', think 'paternal'... "Come on girl, speak. What do you take me for- a werewolf? I don't bite, honest."

Snape cringed inwardly at his own lame, pitiful attempt to make a stab at light humor. But it seemed to have had the desired effect. With a flicker of emotion making its way onto her face, Natalia broke her silence at long last.

"I apologise, Professor Snape. But I am still waiting."

Severus sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "Alright. What, may I ask, are you waiting for?"

"For you to answer the question which I asked you. Back on the ship."

"Oh. Right…" Barely managing to stifle the vociferous groan threatening to escape from his throat, Severus held back in spite of the urge to punch himself in the face right now. OF COURSE, that's what she was waiting for, why she'd been quiet all this time. IDIOT!

Natalia continued, tentatively, with her voice wavering slightly. "I asked you, if Igor was…?"

"Yes, I remember, I remember what you asked. And the answer is yes. He is. Dead. And yes, he was." Snape couldn't bring himself to say the other part, not out loud. Not when it had been his own wand, in his own hand, which had done the deed. But he didn't have to. Natalia slumped forward in her chair, stared down at the floor. She made no effort to brush her long, flowing locks of black hair aside as they fell over her face like a veil, concealing most of her face from his view. She knew what the word which he'd left unspoken was. _Murdered_.

"I'm sorry, I truly am. Now, I imagine that, all of this, has probably come as some shock to you. The Dark Lord's return, your father's death by his command…"

"No, Professor. Not at all."

"…this whole thing with- Wait. What?" Cutting himself off abruptly, Severus blinked, staring at the girl sat in front of him. As she sat up straight again, meeting his incredulous gaze with her own, he could see that, while her eyes looked watery, Natalia's cheeks were still dry- she hadn't shed a single tear. If anything, she looked, and sounded, relieved, as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Well, over the past few months, Lord Karkaroff, Igor, spoke of little else. Even before the Quidditch World Cup, he had started to notice that the faded symbol on his arm- the Dark Mark, as you call it- was steadily getting clearer and clearer. He was becoming more and more paranoid, insisting that the Dark Lord's return was imminent, and that the moment that the Dark Lord did return, he would be a dead man. He tried everything to get rid of it, went through all the darkest magical scrolls he could get his hands on, to try and find a counter-curse. But it was all to no avail. A few weeks ago, in his cabin, he even tried to cleave that whole chunk of his arm off. There was blood everywhere- but no matter how deep he cut, even right to the bone, when he healed it over again, the Mark always returned, darker than ever. It was driving him mad- every time, he would be angrier and more frustrated. He started lashing out more and more, harder and harder, at, well, everything …"

Natalia trailed off, staring down at the desk for a few moments. Severus' eyes narrowed, clenching his fists as he watched her slender fingers subconsciously tracing invisible paths across her face, neck, ribs, stomach, hip. He could see the signs. He'd lived through it himself, after all. Clearly, Igor hadn't just been taking out his pent-up frustration on things, objects. No, he'd violently lashed out at her, at his own daughter. And from the look of it, how many places she'd gone over, it couldn't have just been one isolated incident either- he'd had to have hit her repeatedly, more than once.

Suddenly, he felt a fair bit less mortified about what he'd done, having ended the man whose body was still lying in that improvised coffin, over there in the corner of his study. Making sure that his eyes didn't stray towards it, Severus sat upright, taking a deep breath. "How much do you know?"

A faint trace of a smile flittered across Natalia's lips. "A lot. More than enough. I always knew that he was one of them. From the first time we met, when he first- tested me, to make sure that I could become a suitable wife for his son, he always wanted me to know. That he had been one of the Death Eaters, one of Lord Voldem…"

"STOP! DON'T, finish that word…!" Natalia stopped abruptly, cut off in mid-speech. Breathing heavily, having leapt from his seat, Severus held his stance for a moment or two, until he was satisfied that she wasn't going to finish uttering the Dark Lord's name. Then, and only then, he let his outstretched wand arm fall, relieved that he hadn't been forced to finish going through the final motion to cast a Silencing Charm on her, but still pissed as hell at how close she'd come to making him do it. "Foolish, foolish girl! When I told you about the Taboo on His name, which part didn't you understand? You must not speak that name, EVER! Is that clear?"

Natalia defiantly glared up at him, the spark of rebellion clearly visible in her eyes when they met his own.

"I understand perfectly, Professor," she said, with her clear, ever-so-slightly accented voice taking on an icy chill. "But I also know that, pronouncing it in the way I did, leaving the 't' silent, the Taboo would have had no effect. That difference in pronunciation was one of the main reasons why France, Italy, and the Iberian region, escaped so lightly last time. I know that this was the critical reason why Lord Vold's supporters in these regions never managed to reach the levels of organisation and effectiveness that his supporters achieved in his main power bases, such as Britain, Scandinavia, Eastern and much of Central Europe. Without the Taboo to aid them, their raids and attacks were far less effective, making it far easier for their Aurors to protect people, and to collect sufficient evidence for magical governments' Hit-Wizards to identify Death Eaters and orchestrate counter-raids…"

"Enough! Alright, alright…!" Snape interjected, cutting her off in the middle of her positively Granger-esque lecture. "Very well- it would indeed appear that your assertion wasn't merely arrogant bravado, and that your knowledge on those matters is, shall we say, adequate. Tell me, what do you know of myself?"

"Well, Professor Snape, only what Igor told me of you. Which was quite a lot. And while some of what he spoke of you may not have been true, I know now that some of it most certainly was. When you did cast that spell which summoned the Dark Mark, that was when I no longer had any doubt. You're one of his Dark Lord's followers too, aren't you? A Death Eater."

Natalia's attention turned to his arm, towards the place where she knew that, beneath his black robes, the taint of the Dark Mark had been permanently etched into his flesh. But there was no fear in her voice, or in her expression; she merely seemed mildly disappointed, no more concerned about it than one might have been about being caught in a heavy shower.

Brushing off a non-existent speck of dust from that particular patch on the sleeve of his robe, the closest thing to an admission she'd ever get out of him, Severus shook his head, leaning back into the chair. "Did he also tell you that Albus Dumbledore himself vouched for me personally, in front of the Wizengamot? That, according to Dumbledore's testimony, I'd defected to his side before Lord Voldemort's downfall, at great personal risk, and that I was 'now no more a Death Eater than himself'?"

"Yes, he did. And he told me all about the words which he had with you at the Yule Ball- how, when he first began to contemplate taking flight and going into hiding, even if it would mean abandoning his dream job as the Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute, he tried to persuade you to help him. But apparently, you were adamant upon remaining here, at Hogwarts, no matter what."

" _Of course he told you_ ," Severus groaned, raising a hand to massage his throbbing forehead. Hadn't that blithering idiot been capable of keeping his mouth shut about _anything_? Anything at all? _Besides_ this little family unit of his, of course. _Of course_ , he'd had to have the misfortune of being saddled with the _only_ secret responsibilities which Karkaroff had _ever_ managed to keep…

"And now, if what you say is true, then he is dead," Natalia said flatly. "And you, you still live. If he had stayed here instead of trying to take flight, sought sanctuary here with Dumbledore as you have, then perhaps he would still be…"

"It wouldn't have saved him," Severus hastily muttered, through clenched teeth, with the weight of the guilt which bore down upon him cranking up a hundred-fold. "After all, Hogwarts is hardly a safe haven. The manner of His return proves that much. That He managed to succeed in snatching The-Boy-Who-Lived, the single most protected individual within these walls, out from right under Dumbledore's nose, to perform the ritual by which he restored himself… No. Karkaroff wouldn't have been any safer from the Dark Lord's wrath here than anywhere else. _Wasn't_ , any safer…"

"Professor Snape. You know, don't you? You know how he died."

"Anyway, to the matter at hand. I believe that I was the very last person who saw your father, Igor Karkaroff, alive. In this very room, as a matter of fact. And one of the very last things that Igor did before he died, was to arrange that full custody of you, and your sister-in-law, Anastasia, would be signed over to me when he met his end. I swore an unbreakable vow with Igor, signed a contract which we both sealed with blood magic. Then, at thirteen minutes past midnight last night- less than five minutes later- that contract confirmed that Igor Karkaroff had left the ranks of the living. And at that moment, with the preconditions met, the magicks of the contract came into effect, and you and your sister were officially signed over into my custody."

"Professor Snape. You know, don't you? You know how he died."

"Anyway, to the matter at hand. I believe that I was the very last person who saw your father, Igor Karkaroff, alive. In this very room, as a matter of fact. And one of the very last things that Igor did before he died, was to make the arrangements to ensure that you, and your sister-in-law, Anastasia, would be taken good care of, in the event of his passing. To that end, I swore an unbreakable vow with Igor, signed a contract which we both sealed with blood magic. Then, at thirteen minutes past midnight last night- less than five minutes later- that contract confirmed that Igor Karkaroff had left the ranks of the living. And at that moment, with the preconditions met, the magicks of the contract came into effect. You and your sister were officially signed over into my custody."

Now, there was a proper reaction. Natalia gasped, her eyes widening as the realisation hit home. He'd been expecting this sort of reaction when he told her, of course he had- still, it didn't make witnessing it any easier…

"So you see, Natalia, you and Anastasia are Karkaroffs no longer- now, you are Snapes. Or Princes. I'm not sure, but you should both be able to claim my pure-blood matrilineage; I should be able to, tweak things a bit, so that you're listed in Hogwarts' and the Ministry of Magic's records as a Prince rather than a Snape, along with your sister-in-law. That should help, should raise a few fewer eyebrows, draw far less attention, keep the two of you safer..." _Oh great, now I'm rambling_. Zipping his lips, Severus gathered his thoughts, forced himself to turn his attentions back to the visibly shaken girl, still sitting in front of his desk in stunned silence.

At long last, though, she managed to snap out of it. Shaking her head for a few moments, either to try and clear her head or in denial, Natalia glanced back up at him, her jet-black eyes asking a thousand-and-one questions all at once. "I- I see. So, you are to be our new Patriarch?"

"Yes. And I swear, on my honour, that I will do everything in my power to protect the two of you, to keep you safe from harm and do the right thing by you and Anastasia."

The words just spilled out of Severus' mouth, without a second thought, and he let them. He meant it all, he truly did- he owed this girl, and her sister-in-law, that much at the very least. And from the look of it, he'd said the right thing. Natalia fumbled for her handkerchief, yanked it out and furiously rubbed away at her glistening eyes with it, just about managing to keep the tears at bay. When she pulled it away, her eyes were still wet, with a decidedly raw, pinkish hue, but for the first time, he could see something shining dimly in those jet-black irises of hers.

"T-Thank you… Professor? What would you have me address you as? My Lord? Master…?"

Severus smirked, genuinely this time, barely managing to supress a little chuckle. "Egad, please don't. I'm no 'Lord', not yet at any rate, and you're no house-elf. 'Mr Snape' should suffice perfectly well for the time being, thank you very much."

"Mr Snape, then." Natalia smiled, rising from her seat to stand, and offering a little half-curtsy. "If I may…?"

"Oh, of course, go ahead." Getting up, pulling out his wand again, Severus set about deactivating the wards on the door. "They should be serving breakfast in the Great Hall around by now. Might as well head up there myself, get a bite to eat…"

"…there is one last thing, which I want to ask you- when you last saw Igor, when you signed this contract with him, and he signed us over to you, just before he was- before he met his end. How did he seem, at that time? How do you feel he felt? About us?"

Taken aback by the unexpected question, out of the blue, Snape struggled to come up with an answer. "He… Well, it's hard to say, but with regards to the two of you? He seemed- calm. Perhaps even contented. At peace, knowing that he'd done the right thing by you."

"Oh. Right." The smile on Natalia's face vanished. Without another word, she turned away, pulled the door open, and was gone. Perplexed, Severus watched her leave, deep furrows creasing his forehead. What in Salazar's name had _that_ been about? What the hell had happened...?

* * *

 **A/N- The thing is, RaeRae- the Killing Curse may be listed as an Unforgivable by the MoM, but it's also paradoxically the only canonical spell which offers an instantaneous, completely painless death, and as such, the most humane and ethical lethal spell which exists. Were there any nicer, less Unforgivable lethal alternatives?**


	6. On Hiatus

Sadly, this story has been been placed on indefinite hiatus due to lack of interest. Thank you to all of those who were willing to give it a read, and farewell.


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